Big doe eyes peer up at him from the corner of the limo where she's curled into a ball, her tiny pink shoes left on the floor as her legs and feet disappear into the skirt of her dress. "I can't hire someone to do my job, and Temple can't do anything except tell people I'll call them back. Jason's getting back into the swing of it, it's not him."

When she's not forcing herself to sit upright and strong, she looks as tired as she is, small and vulnerable. The funeral had been a huge success, and she'd done everything short of coming up with the entirety of the guest list. She's still working on placements for Ben, on plans for whether the Compson mansion should be restored or knocked down before being sold, the meetings to determine what was a better financial choice. She's the one arranging lawyers and realtors and health professionals into an already-busy schedule while still leaving Jason enough room and time to not feel overwhelmed, and it's all on top of her own endless work babysitting an entire District of manchildren and a Mentor worse than any of them.

Even if she were the type of person prone to questioning things, she's just too tired.

"Okay."